I’m beginning to fear the worst about Danny Trenwith. We’ve searched the whole island, without a sighting. It’s possible he killed his old mentor, then returned to the cliff and threw himself off, but if that’s what happened, I need to know why.
Kinsella maintains a discreet distance as I head back to Church Quay. He seems glad to stay in the background; if he’s concerned about his latest assignment, there’s no outward sign. He keeps his gaze fixed on me like I might vanish in a blink. I’m keen to speak to the ferryman again. Plenty of the island’s elders may have suspected Louis Hayle of wrongdoing but feared his power too much to speak out. Arthur Penwithick is likely to remain silent, but I’m hoping to be proved wrong. He knew Hayle well enough to act as his crewman, so the man must have trusted him.
The ferryman is pouring oil into his boat’s engine when we reach the quay, even though the lockdown is still in place. He’s wearing the dark blue sailor’s cap he rarely takes off, and gives me a buck-toothed smile, which fades when he spots my companion. Arthur’s shyness is so deep the presence of a stranger is a disadvantage, but I have to find out what he knows. A line of sweat erupts on his upper lip when I request another chat. Shadow helps out by approaching to lick his hand; my dog often eases social situations, provided he behaves.
Arthur and I sit on a bench overlooking the jetty, with Shadow curled at our feet. I can see Kinsella waiting by the boatyard’s entrance from the corner of my eye.
‘You were on good terms with Louis Hayle, Arthur. Is that right?’
‘I was his employee.’ He shifts awkwardly on his seat. ‘I sailed his boat round the islands at the weekends, years ago.’
‘Didn’t you crew his racing yacht as well?’
‘One time, that’s all.’
‘I need to know more about him.’
The man’s shoulders jerk with tension. ‘My memory’s bad.’
‘Can we start with how he treated you?’
‘Hayle paid decent wages, that’s all I cared about.’
‘He could be flash with his money, to impress the youngsters, I’ve heard.’
‘Most admired him anyway; they didn’t need bribes.’ The ferryman gazes down at his bitten nails.
‘How come you stopped working for him, if the pay was good?’
‘The ferry’s my living. He wanted me to drop everything whenever he snapped his fingers.’
‘Tell me more about the children.’
Penwithick’s face is flushed, his voice quiet. ‘Those kids were blinded by all that glitter.’
‘Why did you resign, exactly?’
‘Hayle was a bloody liar, that’s why.’ His gaze finally meets mine, his small eyes hard with anger. ‘Someone should have finished him years ago.’
He suddenly jumps to his feet and marches back up the jetty, leaving me stunned. Arthur never speaks ill of anyone, mildness engrained in his DNA. Whatever he knows about Louis Hayle must have left a scar. It’s obvious he wants to be left alone, but finding the truth matters more than reviving painful memories.
Penwithick doesn’t reply when I knock on his front door, but I go in anyway. His living room is in semi-darkness, despite the brightness outside, the curtains closed. The air smells of mildew and stale coffee. The place has gone unchanged since his parents died, with lace doilies on the table, dark wooden furniture, and damp blossoming on the ceiling. Arthur is in the kitchen, with shoulders hunched and eyes closed, like he’s fighting to stay calm.
‘Tell me the truth, Arthur. It’ll be a relief. You’ve been carrying it too long.’
‘He made me keep his secret.’
‘Did Hayle threaten you?’
‘That man said he’d break my business. I still refused to work for him again.’
‘He’s gone now. You’re perfectly safe.’
‘I didn’t care what he told anyone, it was the kid I wanted to help. He made me promise not to say anything to anyone, so I kept my word.’ He drags in a deep breath. ‘Hayle picked out the quiet ones; they would have done anything for him, if he snapped his fingers.’
‘Keep going, please, I need all the details.’
The ferryman’s arms are wrapped around his chest, like he’s holding himself together. ‘Hayle asked me to sail his boat one summer day so he could teach a lad to navigate. I heard the boy cry out below decks, so I ran down. Hayle had him on a bed, in the cabin…’ His voice peters into silence.
‘Who was it?’
‘The lad begged me to keep quiet, to protect his family.’
‘Give me his name, please, or I’ll have to arrest you for obstruction. You should have told me all this before.’ I feel like shaking the information out of him, but keep my hands clenched at my sides. I’m almost certain the child was Danny Trenwith. ‘Say his name, Arthur.’
‘Nathan Kernow,’ he blurts out. ‘He’d just finished at primary school. I pulled that monster off him, but the lad was sobbing. His father had only died a few months before. He came to see me that evening. He knew the truth would break his mother, so he begged me not to report it. How could I refuse?’
I mumble my thanks as the facts register. It explains why Kernow has retreated into fantasy games and religion, his trauma increased by grief for his dad. I can see why he prefers house plants to people. But it doesn’t mean that he caused his abuser’s death, unless I find absolute proof.